


Broken rib tattoos

by Whoops_heck



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Character Study, M/M, Poetry, i think
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-28
Updated: 2018-10-28
Packaged: 2019-08-03 11:14:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16325144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whoops_heck/pseuds/Whoops_heck
Summary: Cover up what’s ugly, give me broken rib tattoos.





	Broken rib tattoos

I am the alter with the bones of saints embedded in my center. They thrum with miracles and memories. Bow down to my beauty. Stone slabs that choirs sing to. I am the repeller of sins. 

-

“Is it possible to commit homicide, suicide, and genocide all at the same time?”

-

I send silent prayers to you. Words that bounce off of pillars and chapel walls like pinball. The stale air is full of wishes and selfishness. I pray that you’ll love me. My desire hangs in the air like poison. I send my prayers to you.

-

“Just kill an army of clones of yourself.”

-

What difference do we make. Our impacts are ripples but when the rain pours the waves get washed out. Is our impact great or small? Can we hold it in our hands or not dream of comprehending it at all? Raise your hand to the skies and let the heavens dance on your fingertips. Hope that’s enough.

-

“Hey, you stole my joke!”

-

My heart beats like a drum. Smooth and steady and rapid and ugly. It is a beat that plays in staccato. The ratatat of fingers on cheek bones. I love you from the top of my heart. A heart that beats for you. I pray it never stops beating. May blood always pass through. Taxis that can’t be stopped no matter how empty their backseat is. They keep swimming, sharks in the sea, taxis in the streets, blood in my veins.

-

“It’s not even a joke, it’s just you thinking you’re clever.”

-

The world is a mess. A splatter of paint, good ideas, primary colors, mixed in ugly browns and mud greens. Melted crayons burning body and filling the air with wax. Coating my lungs and peeling. I dip my fingers in the candle wax and make the sign of the cross.

-

“I think I’m clever because I am. You’re just jealous.”

-

Silence is a welcome presence. Fills the time and the space between my ears. Wraps around my fingers and my ankles and my throat. A cough bubbles beneath the surface. Nail marks drag along the skin, red lines paint my neck. Skin beneath my nails, a combination of yours and mine. A murder kit shows I killed myself and you were my accomplice, just look under my nails.

-

“So what if I am? There are worse people to be jealous of.”

“Doubt it”

“What about Hitler?”

“I’d say we’re about even.”

“I know we’re doing this witty back and forth thing but there’s no way you’re worse than Hitler.”

“Yeah I guess so.”

“Ok here’s one, is the following sentence true, This sentence is false.”

-

Sometimes I sit at a park bench and peel the wax coating from the wood. Carved by blue or black ink are names that used to be familiar, Alex, Stephan, Ryan, Ian, Nathaniel. They’re faded and some of them layer on top of each other. Handwritings changing slightly. Nothing appearing to have been made by the same person.

One is carved deep into the wood. So deep that no matter how much you peeled, you’d never get deep enough to scratch out the name.

Abram, it reads.

It looks angry but real.

-

“I write poems you know.”

“I assumed.”

“What? I thought this was gonna be a big reveal about how deep and wise I am.”

“What did you expect me to think when you’re scribbling in your journal all day?”

“I don’t know, well anyway, I wrote you a poem.”

“I never asked you to.”

“Yeah but I couldn’t help it, when the sun shines in on your face through the car window, you looked like an angel, I couldn’t help myself. You provoke me I guess.”

“Gee thanks, and get that look off your face.”

“I don’t have a look.”

“Yes you do.”

“Want to hear your poem?”

“Sure.”

-

You are a dull knife

You tried to stab me so many times that the effect wore off

I’ve been stabbed before, my skin is thick and resistant

We dulled one another down

My quick tongue sharpened 

Your hand on my neck strengthened 

I melted

You melted

An alloy of copper and titanium 

We are the knife and the fork

Too dull for others to use

A matching set

-

“I don’t know what to do with that.”

“I’m an artist now and I can’t be tied down, I must leave you so I can do drugs and overdose at the tragic age of 25.”

“You’re 23 idiot”

“I plan to live it up for another couple of years. Go through phases and go to coat checka.”

“I’m sorry what was that? Do you mean Coachella?”

“That’s the one!”

“Have fun supporting a man who wants to diminish women’s rights.”

“I’ll make my own festival then! They’ll call it NeilJostena.”

“Terrible name.”

“I bet you’d still go.”

“Shut up.”

“Aw Andrew, you do care.”

-

In the end I took a class on poetry and couldn’t come up with anything better than that stupid poem about the knife. I was a bored student in class. I was high on energy drinks. I wasn’t a festival goer and I never did make one of my own. I wasn’t lonely though. Never lonely with my knife. My matching set.

You carved me up and for once I was glad that my skin was split in two.

I bled for you.

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know if this was terrible because at this point I have no idea


End file.
